When We Finally Kiss Goodnight
by BlackWidowPretty
Summary: Earth offers interesting traditions for a Vulcan and his Captain. K/S T for safety and suggestiveness.


**Hello, dahlings, and welcome once again to my realm.**

**Or whatever.**

**This story is a little late coming up because I found out the hard way I can't upload encrypted documents. _Why was it encrypted,_ you ask? I have a Christian mother. *looks down through story* One that isn't very open-minded about this sort of thing.**

**BUT I ENDURE!!**

**And have brought my own Christmas special, TO YOU.**

**Why?**

**Everyone else gets one.**

**Shipping: K/S Still can't get enough.**

**Rating: T Safety takes priority. Or something to that effect.**

**Warnings: Eh. Suggestive stuffthings. *shrug***

**Disclaimer: Oh. Look. A mountain. With a star ring. And some lovely clouds. And a word... whatsitsay... oh yeahPARAMOUNT.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Even by Iowa's standards, it was a deep, heavy first snow. The ground was frosted with sheet upon sheet of endless sparkling white, each flash of sun on snow like the twinkle of a secret in a lover's eye. It stacked upon the bare tree branches, sometimes two inches high, gathered, fluffy, a gossamer treasure not to be disturbed. Since there was no need to plow roads out in the country, the sea of white was infinite, stretching, spreading out up and down the hills, across the landscape, as far as the human eye could see, eight inches deep. And it was still falling.

But that didn't stop a certain Captain and his Vulcan First Officer from venturing out into the winter scene to enjoy its annual tributes.

"May I inquire as to the purpose of our waking so early to exit the warmth indoors and to surely freeze out here?" Spock asked, voice muffled from within his cornucopia of winter clothes, puffy gray coat, a snug scarf of an insulating metallic material, right down to his silk lined boots. A gray band kept his pointed ears warm, and his thin fingers were safe inside thick gloves.

Jim laughed happily, tilting his hatless head back to catch snowflakes with his tongue. "Spock, I haven't spent a Christmas off that ship for four years. Lemme enjoy this." He tugged at the triangular zipper on his own dark purple coat, cheeks already rosy with cold and joy. "And as for the _reason_, it's a perfect winter day, for perfect winter activities." A glint shining in his eyes, he bent to the ground to pack some loose snow.

"Such as what, Captain?" Spock barely got the words out before he was bombarded with swift-flying snow, hitting his torso with a '_clomp' _before dropping to the ground.

Jim smirked mischievously. "Lots of things, Spock. Sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen, building forts…" He spread his arms wide, tilting back up to face the sky, backlit with the twinkle of the sun on the snow. "…catching snowflakes on your tongue, making snow angels…" As if the words sparked inspiration as they left his mouth, Jim let himself fall backwards until he landed, sinking deep into the snow, and began to pump his arms and legs across the ground.

Spock wiped a stray flake from the bridge of his nose, and trudged forward to peer down at Jim curiously from above him. Fans of smooth snow spread from under his arms and legs, his thick blue jeans already starting to get wet through.

"What is the purpose of this, Captain? What does the action achieve?"

"It's _fun_, Spock. And don't call me 'Captain'. This is vacation. No more duties, no more formalities, no more pretending…" As he said the last bit, he reached up to take Spock's hand, and placed his booted foot on Spock's shin. In one smooth move, he pulled the arm and gently pushed the leg, at the same time, and Spock lost balance and fell forward onto his Captain, blinking in surprise, face inches away from Jim's. Their coats swished together when Jim raised his head to peck the Vulcan's lips with his, to emphasize his point.

They were close enough, tangled in the snow, that Jim could see tiny flakes collecting Spock's silk black hair, sprinkled and delicate among the smooth strands. Spock's skin, in the cold, had turned a slight copper-green color, tinged deep on his cheeks and nose. Spock pushed himself slightly above Jim with a quiet grunt of effort, and observed the snow around them before looking back into Jim's deep eyes.

"Your snow angel is ruined, Jim," he said simply and Jim laughed, fiddling with the hood-neck connection on Spock's coat with gloved fingers.

"I think he's perfect," Jim teased, earning him an eyebrow elevator.

"I hesitate to use the term, Jim, but that was a rather corny remark."

"I try," Jim smiled.

"So, Captain, what shall mark the birth of our 'perfect winter day'?" Spock inquired, breath warm on Jim's face.

His Captain grinned, that familiar mischievous shine filling his eyes again, and Spock almost immediately regretted asking.

*~*

"Spock, you've got to pack down the snow or it won't work."

"Jim, I'm sure there must be a simpler way. A more effective means for readying snow for rapid sled transport."

"Pick up the rope. I'm not that heavy."

"Weight is not the factor to be questioned here, but rather the efficiency of your present plan. I hardly understood how – "

"Spock! Just drag me down the hill a few times for each side! It's that simple!"

Spock regarded Jim, sitting stubbornly in a large black sled, with a look that brinked on defiance. Most illogical, this winter play. He looked at him a few moments, and Jim crossed his arms impatiently, raising an eyebrow, or trying to, in an attempt to mimic Spock. The Vulcan could see that irresistible pout playing childishly about Jim's lips. He knew this was one argument he wasn't likely to win.

So, defeated, Spock plucked the sled's string out of the snow and began to drag the sled, and Jim, through the deep snow. The Captain was momentarily surprised at Spock's strength and how easily he pulled the weight through eight inches of snow. He took a minute to observe Spock's appearance against a background of white, smiling softly to himself as long, strong legs beat an easy path along the ground, adoring in silence the soft grunts of effort Spock made every so often. The sun shone Spock a halo on his glossy midnight hair, the still ever falling snowflakes peppering his cheeks and nose with their chilly kisses.

A few light, conserving words were shared as Spock pulled Jim around on the sled, the snow packing and smoothing into tracks and trails up the hill and down the other side. Yet Spock didn't seem to tire, replying easily, and actually seeming to enjoy Jim's company in the winter landscape.

When they reached the top of the hill after many journeys up and down, Jim grabbed the back of Spock's coat and yanked him back plopped on the sled between the Captain's legs.

"Ever been sledding before, Spock?" Jim joked, tucking his boots between Spock's legs and the edge of the sled, scooting back so they both could sit comfortably.

"An unnecessary question, Jim, as it does not snow on Vulcan, and such an idea has never so much as presented itself to me."

"Never stopped you before," Jim murmured, suddenly right next to Spock's ear, and Spock for a moment couldn't respond, his blood tingling enticingly. Only his human could pick the most random moments to spark fire inside him, rendering his logic stunned and useless in the background. And Jim knew of this power, too, and never hesitated to use it when they were alone.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the warm breath at his ear was gone, and Jim was pushing his arms into the snow, trying to edge them forward.

"I'll get us going, and you hold on to the string and steer us, just in case we get too close to those trees down there," Jim instructed, his tease dissolving into their memories.

Spock looked a tad unsure, regarding the thin rope in his hands with suspicion. "Are you –"

"Ready? One, two, three!" At each number, Jim shoved his harder behind him, propelling them forward, and soon their momentum built up a speed that let them slide down the hill.

From the top, and bottom, the hill looked innocent and benevolent, a peaceful mound of earth in the country side, fringed with the skeletons of bushes and trees and fringed coated with that gentle snow. But, as Jim had learned from the winters of his childhood, when you started going down it, it felt like there wasn't a force on earth that could stop you.

He was counting on that.

At first, their speed was easy, and Jim knew Spock felt a little relieved. But in his head, Jim counted down the seconds… the time until they hit that hidden crater in the ground, the one that would drop them swiftly and steeply. After that, their speed would render them almost unstoppable.

Jim smiled in anticipation, collecting a few clumps of snow on his fingers and promptly stuck them in his mouth. He loved winter. It made him feel like a kid again, the snow like a sugar that brought out his inner-most child.

When he felt his gut drop momentarily, Jim's smile grew wider. _Two seconds… one second…_

The sharp, quick plummet of the dent in the hill almost threw them off their rapidly accelerating sled, and Jim let out a whoop of joy. Even Spock took in a sharp breath as they shot down the hill, and he grasped Jim's leg anxiously with gloved fingers. Jim noticed the action and held on tightly to Spock, wind stinging his smiling, rosy cheeks, snowflakes swooping into his eyes and hair. Snow on the ground flew like a fountain behind the sled, and Spock remembered the string in his hands, attempting to maintain control of their wild plastic stallion. Which just made Jim grin wider, because at this point, no control could be gained.

Jim felt a thrill pass through Spock to him when a tangled clump of bare bushes became the target of their sled on a rampage. They sped toward it, and Spock tried once more to veer the sled out of the way. He yanked at the rope, a bit too hard, as they soon found themselves sliding through the snow on their sides, tumbling across the drifts until they came to a stop, their sled clunking up over them, landing a few feet away.

Jim was in near hysterics. He laughed heartily, cheek deep in the snow, and began to pull himself up. He brushed snow out of his eyes and out of his hair and turned to Spock with a smile. Spock lay on his back, lodged in a snow bank, hair matted down on his head. He pushed at the snow like a turtle on its back, trying to get up, but he was stuck too deep. Jim moved to peer above him with a smirk.

"Need some help?" he teased, poking a piece of snow down so it plopped on Spock's nose. The Vulcan's expression was one you would use on a child who has just put a tack on your chair, right in front of you.

"Your interpretation of the term 'fun' is a bit unstable," Spock grunted, accepting Jim's hand and hoisting up out of the snow. "Life-endangering activities are peculiar ways to seek amusement."

Jim shrugged, too happy today to let Spock soil it. He wiped the snow off Spock's face with his thumb, smoothing his hair in that neat way he always had it.

"If you don't like life-endangering activities, maybe Starfleet wasn't your best option," Jim pointed out, bending down to pry the sled out of the snow, his coat swishing as his arms moved. He hit the back of it to dislodge some snow and held it up, smiling at Spock.

"Wanna go again?"

Spock adjusted the band that kept his ears warm, gaze flickering over Jim's pleading eyes, then to the hill of doom. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes.

"As always, Jim."

*~*

"Captain's log, Stardate forty-eight, sixty-seven point four-two. The attacks of the gray ice beast of Alpha Data Nine have rendered me exhausted and to the verge of desperation. I must find this beast's weakness…before it's too late."

Jim was interrupted from his fantasy by yet another strike of a packed snowball on the shoulder of his coat. By now, his coat, jeans, hair, were soaked. Something told him Spock was having a bit too much fun. As a matter of fact, it was surprising how seriously the Vulcan was taking this competition.

He tried to peer over the top of his ice fort to see the direction the attacks were coming from, but it just earned him a smack on the head. Yet he couldn't help laughing aloud. While he was the one who had done this many winters before as a kid, Spock was the one kicking his butt. He didn't mind, though. Spock needed to have some good, pure fun.

Another packed snowball hit on the back.

That was enough fun, Jim decided.

He knew the Vulcan would try to be completely logical in all his actions, ducking, hiding, striking when Jim couldn't see him. So, to win, Jim would have to be totally _illogical._

With a small grin, Jim got down on his stomach behind his fort, and the snowballs soon stopped flying. In the brief silence of their winter war, Jim started to stuff his stash of snowballs into his coat pockets, as many as could fit, and then some, before rising gradually onto his knees again, careful not to make himself visible, making as little noise as possible. He analyzed the landscape in his mind, remembering where each hill and mound swelled, where each clump of bushes poked up, and planned his strategy. He bunched his legs underneath him; the soles of his boots were secure in the snow, like starting blocks on a race track, and he prepared to attack. He let the silence continue for a few more moments, sure that this sudden change in action was poking at Spock's logic. Then, palming a snowball readily, he sprung out of hiding and charged out.

Almost immediately, though in a pattern that suggested surprise, snowballs flew toward Jim as he ran, but they were poorly aimed due to lack of anticipation, and he easily evaded them. He ducked behind a tree, and while behind it, dropped into a roll behind a bank of snow that barreled from the side of the tree. To his opponent, it would appear he vanished. But he knew Spock would listen for him in the loud, crunching snow, so he had very little time before the element of surprise would fade from his tactics. He threw a snowball or two blindly from his hiding spot, then continued to move, running from a squat back out into the open again.

By now, Spock was anticipating this move, and struck Jim twice in the chest and once on the leg. Plucking a couple snowballs from his pocket, Jim squinted to see where the attacks were coming from. But Spock's fort must have been extremely well made, because he couldn't spot it anywhere. Hit on the shoulder again he came up on a small hill of snow, threw some blind attacks, and quickly jumped behind it.

Breathing heavily, Jim pulled two more snowballs out of his pockets. He had three left. If he was going to get Spock, he would have to do it soon. He really needed to find where Spock had hidden his fort, and sabotage it. Jim saw that there was a small, naked bush just to the side of his snow mound, and wondered if he could peek through the branches without being seen. He got down flat on his stomach and crawled toward it, careful not to let his legs poke out. He tentatively stuck his head out into the bush, and waited. Now snow attacks came.

Jim smirked to himself and edged a bit more forward, trying to see through the branches. Once he had a clear view of the sea of snow and sky outside. Again, he saw absolutely no sign of Spock's fortress, no matter how hard he looked. Just bare trees, little snow hills, and his own rapidly constructed protective wall of snow. He listened intently for movement, but all he heard was his breathing, and the muffled buzz of winter. He wiped a stray snowflake from his eye, waiting still.

Finally, he caught the smallest instant of movement of gray against the snow. Jim focused his gaze on that spot, willing detail to come alive. It was a little swell of snow by the edge of an old creek, not large enough to hide a man, unless he wanted to stand in freezing water…

That was it! Jim thumped his forehead into the snow for not thinking of it earlier. That creek froze solid in the winter time! And if someone stood on the pure ice, just behind that little hill, they could see everything above it and still remain absolutely invisible to someone looking towards it. Of course Spock would choose that as his hiding place, it was only logical.

Impressive, Jim thought with admiration.

Now that he knew where Spock hid, the poor Vulcan was ripe for attack. Jim quickly packed some more snowballs and stuffed them in his pockets, crouched for a few moments, then sprinted towards Spock's fort.

Spock must not have been expecting Jim to find his hiding place so quickly, and delayed in flinging his icy attacks. Jim threw his behind the snow bank, smiling when he heard that satisfying '_swop!'_ of snow on the Vulcan's coat. He lifted his knees high to run through the deep snow, and leapt over the snow hill to tackle a surprised Spock onto the ice.

Jim heard Spock exclaim when he slammed into his torso and they both rolled briefly down the hill before landing with a thump on the frozen creek. Jim sprawled on his back, panting, Spock on his stomach with his head near Jim's side. The latter pushed himself up onto his elbows, and regarded his Captain curiously.

"With a score of thirty-six to your one, I believe I am the victor, regardless of your recently applied strategy," he commented, if a bit smugly.

Jim pulled the last of his snowballs out of his pocket and smooshed it on Spock's face.

"Shut up," he breathed.

*~*

"Yeah, just put it on top of the first two, like that, and we'll use the loose stuff to glue it together. Perfect."

Jim pulled his wet glove off with his teeth and smoothed the head to the body of their snowman-in-progress. All in all, it wasn't the most impressive snowman. While the snow was perfect for packing, it stiffened too quickly and they couldn't make perfect spheres for their three-piece sculpture. So what they ended up with was something resembling a half-melted white crayon. But Jim didn't mind. He appreciated the time he was being allowed to spend with Spock. What he'd commented on before, about not having to pretend while they were out here, he really meant. On the ship, everything was so formal, so professional, no one, _especially_ the Captain, could have room for weakness or sentiment. To be out here, unrestricted, no being watched for flaws every second, was an unbelievable relief.

Jim looked up from his work to observe Spock briefly, the Vulcan fumbling with the little buttons that were to become their snow\dumpling man's eyes. Jim admired the way the quickly setting sun backlit Spock, his black hair catching fire in the light. If anyone needed this Christmas break, it was Spock. He not only had to hide his mistakes and flaws, he had to push away an entire side of himself that he felt no one should see.

No one, that is, except for Jim.

He knew Jim could embrace this side of him, not see it as a flaw or error in genetics. As a matter of fact, the more human Spock would show, the more Jim seemed to love him.

Spock caught Jim gazing at him and raised an eyebrow. As always. Jim smiled softly and took a little silver button from Spock's fingers and stuck it in what was supposed to be the face of their poor little snowman.

Spock rocked on his feet, wringing his hands to try to get them warm.

"What contribution does this activity make to the holiday traditions?" he asked looking at Jim curiously.

Jim lifted the side of his mouth in thought. "I don't really know. It's been around for centuries. I think there used to be a song about one of these that came alive and could shoot webs from his hands."

Spock frowned. "'Webs'?"

Jim shrugged, securing the uneven eyes into their snowman's face. "Maybe I'm thinking of something else." He held his hand out for the nose. According to tradition, it was supposed to be a carrot. Unfortunately, the ship's replicators would only give them cooked carrots, so an old lift handle would have to do.

"The only contribution it makes at this point is the fun," he added, stabbing the silver cone below the eyes. It was turning out alright, he decided. A little lopsided. But overall acceptable.

"If memory serves," Spock said in his deep voice, "snowmen were generally accessorized with a scarf and three buttons down the torso."

Jim held up a finger and tapped the air. "That's right." He smiled and started to unwrap his red scarf from around his neck, noticing that the setting sun was fast stealing away his ability to see. He donned his scarf on what was supposed to be the snowman's neck and punched three more buttons in a line down the middle. Spock leaned over the other side, twisting in the stick arms and then pulling off his gloves to place over the end. Jim regarded him thoughtfully again. For such a logical being, he sure seemed to like this winter stuff. Jim's heart was touched by how relaxed Spock was out here, how at ease he seemed when he didn't have to shove away his human half.

Jim took a step back to inspect their work, curling his fingers into his palm to restore circulation.

"Not bad," he said, shrugging.

Spock turned to him, taking his hands to help warm them, and Jim felt that familiar muffled tingle at the contact of their skin. "I believe it is a satisfactory snowman," he agreed, and Jim smiled.

"One more thing to add, though," Jim replied, and pulled at item out of his pocket. It was a small gold arrowhead with a star in the middle, one point reaching toward the top. The Enterprise insignia. He pushed it in to the side of one of the buttons, right over the snowman's heart.

"Perfect," he murmured, and curled his arm around Spock's waist, admiring their first snowman.

*~*

Night finally won its war with winter day, and bathed the snow in darkness. Spock observed it from the window of Jim's family's old cabin, dark brown eyes tracing along the panes. He'd traded in his soaked black pants and his winter coat for a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and gray Starfleet sweat pants. Normally, he would never be caught dead wearing such garments. But what he did normally and what he allowed in only Jim's presence were two drastically different things.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock could see Jim's black sled through the window, could make out the hill where their trails had almost reached the grass below. He saw Jim's poorly made fort poking up out of snow, tracks from his boots sprinkled over the countryside. And just beyond the glass that separated Spock from winter's bite, their lumpy snowman, stick arms spread wide to embrace the cold air, Enterprise pin glinting in the moon's light.

'An illogical metaphor,' Spock corrected himself. 'The moon casts no light of its own. It is merely the sun's light reflecting off its surface.'

'_Oh, be quiet,'_ his human side cut in.

Spock turned when he felt Jim's hand on his shoulder, and saw him holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate, an adorably sheepish look on his face.

"Finally got it right," he smiled, holding one of the cups out to Spock, a black turtleneck in place of his own winter gear. He wasn't about to admit it took him eight tries to get it that way. He hadn't wanted to just start from scratch; he wanted to start from _scratch_, right down to melting his own chocolate and heating the water over the stove. He tried to pretend that the particularly nose-wrinkling odor seeping out of the kitchen didn't exist.

Spock raised an eyebrow and took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate, pinching a marshmallow between his lips and chewing it thoughtfully. The pronounced Adam's apple on his neck bobbed as he swallowed and he looked down at the cup, analyzing the flavor.

"Indeed," was all he said, and Jim chuckled, taking a drink of his own.

They both watched out the window for a moment, not really seeing anything , just taking a moment to forget everything and anything to just exist in a world that was completely their own. Then Jim couldn't stop himself; he yawned largely, his eyes pinching shut. When he opened them, Spock regarded him pointedly.

"You are fatigued, Jim," he said in a way that left little room for objection. "You require rest."

"Naw, it's just been a long day," Jim assured him, knowing how lame his excuse sounded. The heat in the room, provided by the burning logs in the fireplace, which Jim felt perfected the winter collage, relaxed and lulled him in his hazy awareness. Besides, he knew Spock wouldn't sleep, if but for a hour or so, and didn't want to miss any rare time they had together or make Spock feel alone in a landscape that wasn't a familiar one.

Jim hadn't realized he'd let his eyes slide closed until he swayed slightly on his feet and Spock steadied him with a hand to his chest. Jim blinked aware and saw Spock raise an eyebrow chidingly. His Captain sighed and rolled his shoulders, draining the last of his hot chocolate.

"Alright, alright," he groaned, then leaned down and kissed the top of Spock's head.

He took their cups to the kitchen, then shoved enough wood in the fireplace to keep it alive and warm until morning. Spock went from the chair to reclining easily on the couch, watching Jim as he switched off the kitchen light so that the fire was the only thing that allowed them to see. Spock could make out Jim's outline as he walked to the couch and crawled up onto it, twisting himself into Spock's arms and resting his head on the Vulcan's chest. Spock felt wonderfully solid to him, a cocoon of muscle, breath, and heartbeat that blanketed his mind with that sweet haze.

"Good day?" he murmured against Spock's heart, or rather, his liver. He fought off the sleep for now, wanting to spend every moment he could with Spock.

Spock moved his cheek on top of Jim's head. "A perfect winter day, Jim," he replied softly. "The traditions were quite intriguing, and I shall remember them fondly in the future."

"Oh, we're not done yet," Jim smiled. "There are more uses for that fire than just warmth. Humans have other traditions about them. Besides, it's supposed to snow four more inches tonight. And there's two days until Christmas. I think we should have a beautiful Christmas tree." As he talked his words became airy and tired, as if his mouth no longer wanted to make the effort. He felt around the back of the couch for the quilt folded over the top and tugged it down over him and Spock, up to his neck and Spock's shoulder. He yawned widely again and the Vulcan scoffed against his head.

"You must rest, Jim. It is illogical to deny your fatigued body what it needs, especially if you hope to repeat today's rigorous outdoor activity."

"I don't wanna," Jim slurred sleepily. "Wanna stay awake with you."

"I will be here when you wake, Jim."

He already felt his mind being surrounded by sleep. The combinations of the fire's heat, Spock's cozy body, and his tired muscles pushed him down into the dark, where peaceful dreams awaited him. He pulled out of it to whisper, "Love…winter." And he fell fast asleep.

Spock lay awake, gazing at the ceiling, listening to Jim breathe against his chest. He too, was tired after today, but he wanted to cherish this rare, rare moment. He knew how long it would probably be before they could have it again. It was unfortunate, but true.

Spock sighed softly, murmured the human saying "Sweet dreams", then let the flames of the fire carry him into light slumber, snug under Jim's snoring form.

* * *

**Awwwww.... Isumcutenesssesss...**

**What's that do I hear? Sleigh bells? No, no, not that. Could it be...the twinkling magic of reviews? Yes. I think it is.**

**Ah, ya know I love you guys. Merry Christmas to all.**

**~BlackWidowPretty~**

**P.S. Oh, and Happy New Year.**


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